


White Lily of Truth

by Satres_Jedi



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Music, Musicians, Philosophy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satres_Jedi/pseuds/Satres_Jedi
Summary: Adora is a  euphonium player and music major, studying music performance and composition at the University of North Texas (UNT). Catra is a Philosophy major at UNT, and casual trumpet player. Both are looking to understand and come to terms with their past. (Bare bones at this point, but will be fleshed out.) Slow burn on this one.Music inspired from the anime Hibike! Euponium, or, in English, Sound! Euphonium.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a fic focused on Adora and Catra's journey through university at the University of North Texas as they attempt to understand their pasts and where to go in the future. I love the relationship between these two. I also love music, so I thought it would be cool to give the two of them a different voice through music. Philosophy will also be a major component to the story. In other words, I want to help them understand their trauma and come to terms with it. A lot of this is also me working through my own trauma, so take that as you will as we get further into this fic. A lot of musical terminology will come into play, and, hopefully, I will explain them well enough. 
> 
> I was a Euphonium player for a long time. To put it simply, a euphonium look like a small tuba and sounds like a smooth trombone. I highly recommend you look up what a euphonium looks and sounds like. It's... subtle but expressive. I don't know how else to say it. It's beautiful.
> 
> (Edit) The first post was merely a proof of concept to see if anyone was interested, and I was blown away by the response. So, you know what, quadruple the word count. We have a teaser of Catra and Scorpia's characters here (more to follow in the next chapter before a time skip to university).
> 
> To those that have read the first post, the original has been slightly altered to add more depth to the characters (and the changes are REALLY important to the plot).
> 
> Adora and the group's final performance at the camp is not only included, but I also included links to recordings of the songs made by my high school band.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Side note: My username, Satres_Jedi links to French existential philosopher Jean-Paul Satre. If you're curious, you can look up his works.

Introductions are in Order

Adora anxiously went down the checklist of what she would need for the University of North Texas (UNT) All-Brass Summer Camp: instrument, wide-bore mouthpiece, valve oil, foldaway stand, polishing cloth, brass polish. She had packed the whole list inside her Euphonium case; hidden inside its various side compartments. The athletic girl lifted the heavy case with ease, carrying it to the entryway of her mothers’ house.

Adora’s mother, Mara, watched from the dining table, sipping a hot cup of Earl Grey tea, as the young girl shook with giddy as she carefully set the instrument case down by the door. A soft smile crept upon her as her adopted daughter turned to her with a tooth-filled grin.

“Seems like you're looking forward to your band camp this week,” Mara said slyly.

“It’s not a ‘band’ camp, mom,” Adora said with exasperation. “It’s a  _ brass _ camp. No woodwinds allowed, at least not until the concert at the end.”

Her other mother, Hope, gently placed her hand on her spouse. “Adora, honey, you know she’s never understood the difference between the two.”

“Wind, or, it’s more colloquially known in the music community, breath goes in one side of the instrument, and sound comes out the other. It’s the same for both, right? It doesn’t make sense to separate them into two categories based on the elemental composition of the instrument itself,” Mara said before taking a sip of tea, knowing the rant that would come after her statement.

Adora took a deep breath, opening her mouth to tell Mara exactly why she was wrong. Hope butted in before she could say anything.

“Adora, I’ve tried for years to get her to understand. At this point, I’m certain she’s just being willfully obtuse,” she said, clamping her fingers into her partner’s shoulder blades.

“Obtuse... like the angle of a triangle,” Adora asked with confusion.

“Your mother thinks I am misinterpreting facts on purpose. However, I maintain that it’s a matter of perspective, dear. If you look at things from an outside perspective, you find that most distinctions are based on semantics, or petty details, rather than usefulness,” Mara replied ignoring the increasing pressure from her partner’s grasp, her lips smugly wrapped around the edges of her mug.

“Ever the philosopher,” Hope said deadpan.

“It’s why you love me,” Mara said, stealing a kiss off Hope’s wrist. Hope’s face blushing at the loving gesture.

“Gross,” Adora yelled while covering her face.

“You’re 16 years-old ‘Dora, you should be familiar with displays of affection by now,” Mara said with a loving smile.

“Anyways,” Adora said, looking to change the subject, “I am looking forward to the  _ brass _ ,” she said with emphasis, “...camp. UNT has one of the best music programs in the state.”

The toothy grin she had before has found a place on her face once more. “The Chair of Brass Instrumental Studies, Sea Hawk, will be providing some instruction during it. He is the leading brass expert in the country! How could I not be excited,” Adora yelled.

“Did you at least remember to pack clothes and toiletries for the week-long trip, or did you just focus on what you would need for your instrument,” Mara asked.

Adora looked over her checklist once more. Clothes and toiletries were absent from the list. “Give me one moment,” Adora said as she ran out of the room.

“I swear that girl would lose her head if she didn’t need it to play music,” Mara said, nuzzling her cheek into her partner’s hand.

“I was the same way at that age,” Hope said, letting go of Mara’s shoulder to cup her partner’s cheek. “If it didn’t have anything to do with my clarinet, it was out of mind.”

Hope stole a kiss from Mara while Adora haphazardly tossed all the other things she would need for the week in a duffle bag.

“All ready, kid,” Hope asked as Adora placed her duffle next to her instrument.

“Yep,” Adora replied.

“Then let’s get going. Mara needs to work on her new thesis inspired by” Hope coughs obviously, “... _stolen_ from Todd May.”

Mara puffed her chest out proudly. “May doesn’t have a patent on the philosophy of death providing meaning to our lives. I use his ideas, as many philosophers have, to build upon my own.”

Hope leans down to kiss her partner on the cheek. “I know honey, I’m messing with you.”

“You’d better hope I don’t kill her before you get back Adora,” Mara said, rolling her wheelchair over to to sink, rinsing out her mug, and placing it on the drying rack. A car accident with a drunk driver had left her left leg and kidney beyond repair. The doctors were left with no choice but to amputate the mangled leg, and Mara was forced to undergo dialysis three times a week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

“I’d like to see you try,” Hope said with a smirk on her face.

Mara wheeled back to the table, opening her laptop to work on her scholarly article. “‘Dora, one last thing before you go,” she said, gesturing for the girl to come to her. She held her arms up to the ceiling. Adora knew this drill by heart. They spoke in unison, their movements matching the ritualistic words they had chanted since Adora had been adopted. “Hands up! Out to the side! ‘Round my neck! Big squeeze!” The pair stayed in the hug for a few moments before Adora pulled away, sighing with content.

“Have fun at your camp ‘Dora,” Mara said as she watched her partner and daughter get ready to leave. “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

Catra laid her head on her music stand, her frustration forcing out a sigh. Her entry for solo competition had been giving her trouble: Malcolm Arnold’s Fantasy for Trumpet, Opus 100. Staccato sixteenth notes were not her favorite thing in the world, and her tone during the allegretto section felt hollow. She pulled her phone up to her face, a smile crept across her face as she looked at her wallpaper: a picture of herself, Scorpia, Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio at the Alamodome in San Antonio. They were decked out in their black marching uniforms with a gold sash draped across the right shoulder for the State Marching Band Competition, bright smiles flashed across their faces. They came in fifteenth in the preliminaries, not making the finals, but the sheer fact that they had been the first band from their high school to make state in two decades had made their life. Her eyes naturally drifted to the time: 4:30 p.m.  _ Fuck _ .  _ Weaver will have my ass if I’m not back by 5:30. _

She sat up in her chair, back arched as she lifted her trumpet to her lips. A hand forcefully placed itself on her shoulder.

“Jesus, fuck, Scorpia. Warn a girl next time,” Catra said, pulling her instrument back down to her lap.

“Sorry Wildcat. I just get excited when I hear your music,” Scorpia said with a huge grin.

Catra smiled softly. “I remember from last time when you couldn’t hit your mark during the end of the ballad of our Atlantis marching show at the NETEX marching festival in October and ended up marching into the pit, confusing the shit out of the marimba guy.”

“Yeah,” Scorpia said with bellowing laughter. “He almost hit me with his mallet.”

They sat in a moment of silence, Scorpia summoning up the courage to say what she needed to say to her girlfriend.

“You know, I think you're holding back during the slow section of your piece. Like there’s something you don’t want to say,” she held her breath at what Catra might say.

Catra put her head back on the stand. “Ugh, you don’t need to remind me. I know!”

Scorpia took Catra’s hand in her own. “You feel the need to hold back on a lot of stuff, and I think music is the one place you should allow yourself to channel those emotions, especially during that particular part.”

Catra pulled her head further into the crook of her arm, resenting how open she wanted to be with Scorpia. “I… don’t know how.”

Scorpia pulled the brunette’s head up, placing both of her hands around the girl’s face. “Take that thought, along with all the… other stuff inside your head and use it to fucking nail it.”

“Scorpia,” Catra shot up, pulling her hand to her chest. “How dare you use that kind of language? You’re supposed to be the best of us!”

Scorpia simply smiled, pulling away from Catra. “I do what my friends need me to do.”

Catra sat up again in her seat, pulling her instrument up to her lips. She thought about how fucked everything was with Shadow Weaver and her foster siblings. She then thought about how pure Scopria’s love was for her, for all of her friends.  _ I’ll never understand what she sees in me _ , the girl thought to herself.

* * *

Adora shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the edge of her euphonium digging into her leg as it bounced up and down. The concert marking the end of the brass camp was about to begin. Everything she had worked for was coming to an end. The woodwinds had joined the brass to perform a one-time-only concert to demonstrate the skills they had learned from the extensive regime. The bright lights blocked her view of the audience, so she could not even look to see her adopted parents in the audience, although she had a feeling they would be there to witness all the hard work she had put in to make her performance the best she could.

First up was the classic march “Americans, We” by Henry Fillmore. Sea Hawk, the conductor stepped onto the podium, and the whole symphony sat up, instruments in the ready position.  _ No introductions needed,  _ Adora supposed. He raised his baton, and instruments met lips. He counted the performers in: 1, 2, 3, 4: his condutor pose oozing with dramatic flair. The music began.

(Link to the piece as performed by my high school band)

[ https://drive.google.com/file/d/18dLkY4wIrt6h4-VBl04LlKaXltEzNdd5/view?usp=sharing ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/18dLkY4wIrt6h4-VBl04LlKaXltEzNdd5/view?usp=sharing)

Adora tapped her foot to the beat, playing to the best of her ability. She nailed the opening, thanking whatever gods that might be out there that her fingers did not fail her. As the band reached the time signature change, she felt good. She was playing perfectly, not a single pitch out of place. She lost herself in the performance, not even wondering how the audience was feeling about the music.

As they reached the first iteration of the coda, she relished in the fact that Sea Hawk had chosen to have them play at a piano, letting the woodwinds shine. The build up to the second coda got her riled up.  _ Sea Hawk had told the brass to play at fortissimo after all. _ The symphony crescendoed into the end of the song, and Adora let her heart out within reason, although she wasn’t sure the trombone section understood that concept in the slightest.

The last note of the march rang out into the crowded auditorium to elated applause. Sea Hawk stepped off the podium, walking towards a microphone at the front of the stage.

“Now of course you all know that first song, it’s a classic,” he said with swagger. “‘Americans, We’ by Henry Fillmore, a classic march filled with pride for the country. Our next song will bring us back to basics. Another classic named ‘Prelude and Fugue in B flat’ by none other than the one, the only, Johann Sebastin Bach himself! Arranged for symphonic band, this piece has not known such love since the original!”

The crowd applauded once more.

“Let’s show off a bit of technical skill,” He said, leaving the mic, that last remark addressing the band before him.

A more composed version of the conductor graced the podium as he lifted his baton in an overtly distinguished manner.

(Link to the piece as performed by my high school band)

[ https://drive.google.com/file/d/1g1Cn9m7Jx4T9gOE1xmn_ByyDGDvWWxZn/view?usp=sharing ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1g1Cn9m7Jx4T9gOE1xmn_ByyDGDvWWxZn/view?usp=sharing)

Adora was not a huge fan of this song, but it had helped her get her technique down to a t, especially staccato notes.

The last note seemed to fade eternally, echoing throughout the large performance hall.

Sea Hawk stepped to the mic for the final time. “Our last piece encompasses not only the beauty and fun of life in the circus, but also the deep sorrow that can creep into one’s very soul. A masterpiece by modern legend Robert Sheldon, of whom I am personally friends with,” he added boastingly. “‘In the Center Ring.’”

He approached the podium once more, band and audience on the edge of their seats.

“Let’s give them one to remember,” he said to the band with a large grin on his face.

(Link to the piece as performed by my high school band)

[ https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mxWmapLhNVE75hL6cs36hoBor41heEkv/view?usp=sharing ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mxWmapLhNVE75hL6cs36hoBor41heEkv/view?usp=sharing)

The woodwinds began with a lick heavily practiced during the camp. The trumpets came in, taking over the melody for a short while as the low brass set the beat. The clarinets took over the melody once more, the feel of the circus taking front-and-center as the song entered it’s rhythm. 

The song entered it’s slow part, the clarinet and flute duet soared over the piece in sorrowful solidarity. The low brass entered, providing a foundation for the sadness.

The trumpets took over, interjecting a little hope in the sorrow of the woodwinds, but still falling to the melancholic argument of their counterparts.

Adora clenched her butt as the euphonium part took center stage. The euphoniums injected their elder wisdom of hope into the sadness, showing their circus comrades that everything works out in the end. As Sea Hawk described it during practice, “Sorrow isn’t the rule of existence, it’s only the interlude.” The piece picked back up as the circus was forced to entertain it’s patrons once more.

Adora loved this song, but also hated it. The ensuing soli her and her fellow euphoniums were entrusted with had been the bane of her existence for most of the camp. Her fingers had failed her more than once on this short lick. Sixteenth notes were not something she was super familiar with, as low brass rarely got them in traditional high school pieces of music. Her relentless hours of practice paid off as she mindlessly nailed the short soli. The rest of the piece was a piece of cake after that.

The final note of the performance rang off the walls of the hall, the audience shaken into a moment of silence as the last waves of music reverbated off the walls. A loud wave of applause sung throughout the performance hall as the band stood to give a bow.

Adora rushed to put her instrument away and change into street clothes, eager to get her parents' opinion of her performance, namely Hope as she had a deeper understanding of the nuances of music. Although, she had to admit she wanted Mara’s take on the story “In the Center Ring” told.

The young girl bade quick goodbyes to the friends she had made in the short time at the camp, exchanging contact information. She rushed into the atrium of the building, quickly scanning the crowd for her parents to no success. She pulled out her phone to text them, but was stopped short by a single text she received at 3 p.m., two hours before the concert from Hope that read: “We won’t be able to make it to the concert kiddo. Mara is having a little trouble with her kidneys again. Granny will pick you up from the camp. I hope you had fun. Oh, and make sure to order a copy of the video of the concert so we can watch it together. Love you!”

Adora’s grin quickly fell. They missed it, or, at least, missed the best version of it. Nothing could beat a live performance. She had already filled out the order form for the video, and began to message Granny Razz. The older woman, however, had already set her sights on her granddaughter, rushing to her side and pulling her into a strong hug.

“That was absolutely marvelous darling,” Granny Razz shouted over the throng of proud family members doing the same.

“Thanks Granny,” she replied.

“Come on dearie, let’s get you home,” Razz said warmly.

* * *

A little after midnight, the pair pulled into the driveway. Adora gathered her things from the trunk of Granny Razz’s car. She waved goodbye to her granny as she walked up the sidewalk to her house, the porch light left on in a loving gesture from her mothers. She fit her key into the lock on the front door, swinging it open and kicking it shut behind her. The light in the kitchen was on.  _ Of course Hope stayed up to make sure I got home safe _ , Adora thought to herself.  _ She never could go to sleep if Mara or I stayed out late. _

Adora made her way into the kitchen, setting down her bag and instrument case on the floor. Sitting at the table was, of course, Hope. 

“Mom,” Adora said excitedly with a big grin on her face,” the concert went so well! I can’t wait to show y’all the video when it comes in...” Her mouth slowly turned to a frown as Hope turned her face up to look at her daughter, dried, salty remains of tears trailed from her puffy eyes.

“Kiddo, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the chair beside her.

Adora obliged, a chill running up her spine. Hope clasped her hands around her daughter’s, her voice choking.

“Mara’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I put a lot of my own past into Mara, Adora and Catra's characters. My grandfather lost his leg and had to undergo dialysis. He also died while I was gone on a trip due to complications with his kidneys, completely blind-siding me. So, yeah. that's a thing and totally not something I repressed for years. Too honest?
> 
> AS for similarities with Catra, my marching band did make it to the state marching contest in San Antonio and placed 15th, that part is true to life. I will post links to the marching show Atlantis, which we performed for Bands of America the following year (I could only find one recording of our state show, and it was our first performance of it, so it was very rocky), and Catra's submission for the solo and ensemble contest when we get there in the next chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Song of the Sirens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost and extension of Ch. 2. I wanted to add more Scorpia content. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> If anyone would be interested in a discord server for this fic let me know in the comments.

Song of the Sirens

Bright lights blocked Catra’s vision as she marched out of the tunnel and onto the field of the Alamodome in San Antonio, Texas. Sharp taps emanating from the snare drum marked the tempo, echoing throughout the immense stadium as they marched to their beginning marks on the field. Her itchy, bright white uniform stood out from her peers’ black and gold ones. She split off from the band’s main force, taking her place on the platform hidden from the audience at the back center of the field. She held her freshly polished golden trumpet in her hands, liquid falling to the wooden platform as she emptied it’s spit valves before the performance. She took a deep breath as the announcers began to introduce them, a block of ice forming inside her stomach.

“Joining us from Fright City, Texas, please welcome the Horde Marching Band. The Horde’s program is entitled ‘Atlantis,’ featuring ‘The Thriving Metropolis,’ ‘Song of the Sirens,’ and ‘The Demise,’” the woman’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker in the stadium, reading the script sent in by The Horde’s band director. “We are proud to present in preliminary performance, Drum Majors Lonnie Weaver, Rogelio Weaver, and the Cadets of the Horde Marching Band.”

Catra’s view of Lonnie on her podium at the front of the field was blocked by the prop she stood on, but could see her drum major salute perfectly. Lonnie had spent a few weeks perfecting it in their shared bedroom, her toned figure altering and repeating the salute as she added her own flair to it.

Her grip on the instrument tightened, the whole marching show was designed to feature the lead trumpet player.  _ This will be the performance that shows Shadow Weaver I’m not worthless. _ The lithe girl told herself.  _ Well, this one and when we perform for finals. I will earn my place at the UNT Brass Camp, even if I haver to tear from Weaver’s cold hands. _

The ice in her gut began to melt as she turned to see Rogelio on his podium in the back of the field to conduct the band while they were turned away from the audience at the beginning of the show. The large muscular boy with dyed green hair gave her a wink as he raised his hands to get the band at the ready. She remembered the mental lashing from Shadow she was given for encouraging Rogelio to express himself: the quiet fury. The brunette shook her head.  _ That woman will not ruin one of the few things in this life that still makes me happy. _ What brought her out of her nervous funk was not the fact that her foster brother was behind her co-leading the band with her foster sister, nor the fact that she herself was leading the band on the field with her performance, but rather that the “rocket ship” they would be forming and holding for a few measures in the ballad looked suspiciously like a dick and balls. A smile crept upon her face as the prop unveiled it’s secret to the audience by lowering the front panel to show the curly-haired girl lift up her trumpet and begin her performance.

It ended as quickly as it had begun. The performance was over, and the sharp raps of the snare drum instructed the band to exit the field for the next band’s performance.

Preliminary performances were now over, and the judges were about to release the rankings of the performing bands. Cheering broke the silence as each of the 10 bands moving on to finals were announced. Catra’s smile broke as the tenth band was announced. They had placed fifteenth and lost. Scorpia’s grip on her hand tightened, and tears began to stream down the curly-haired girl’s freckled face.

* * *

***5 months later***

[ https://youtu.be/OGc9W-_C9u0 ](https://youtu.be/OGc9W-_C9u0)

Catra sat against the wall of the gym as she waited for her number to be called, listening to a song that seemed to foretell her future.  _ I think we’re doomed, and now there’s no way back. _ Despair called to her. The State Solo and Ensemble competition would be her last chance to prove to her guardian that a future in music was not a fantasy. Shadow Weaver’s words to her after they failed to even make finals at the State Marching Competition echoed throughout her head.

_ You failed Catra. It’s okay. You need to accept that fact. Failure is indicative of choosing the wrong side: the side of music. _

The song ended, her time was rapidly approaching. She mindlessly fingered the notes to her selected piece from memory on her instrument, endless practice guiding her movements. She had forgotten to bring the original copy of the music for the judges last time and been disqualified for state competition, even though she had a flawless performance. She made sure not to repeat that mistake.

Her number was called. She performed. All that was left was to wait for the judge’s decision.

Time passed like molasses on a cold winter’s day, until the sheet of paper determining her future was finally posted on the wall. The ranking system goes from five to one, a one being awarded only to those with the best performance.

“A two… I got a two,” Catra said with a million-yard stare. There was no explanation, no reasoning; just a rating.

A hand clasped her shoulder, and she snapped back to reality and saw her foster siblings standing beside her. “A two? Not bad Catra, but it doesn’t beat the one we got for our trio,” Kyle said with pride.

“Shut up Kyle,” the brunette said, words laced with venom. Kyle backed away, making himself as small as possible behind his compatriots. “Music has never been important to any of you, just a hobby to pass the time in high school. Of course y’all get a one,” she said turning away from them. “I had a lot riding on this… and now it’s gone.”

“We worked hard for our one,” Lonnie defended. “And we would know what you’re going through if you ever actually talked to us about your shit.”

“My shit,” Catra flamed. “Say that again. I dare you.”

“You know that’s just how she communicates,” Rogelio stepped in with his deep, scratchy voice. “She, and we, just want you to include us in your life. You keep us at a distance. You’ve been like this since our preliminary performance at state for marching.”

Catra stiffened, her tone froze the room. “Don’t talk to me about that. Maybe if you and Lonnie had been better drum majors we would have actually made finals. I know I did my part.”

Lonnie’s muscles flared up in anger.

Catra’s cold tone continued. “I saw the recording. I saw how many people missed their sets, had god-awful tones, and, worst-of-all, fucked up straight lines when all they had to do was line up on one of the clearly marked lines one the field. Tell me… who’s job was it to make sure that stuff didn’t happen  _ drum majors? _ ”

Lonnie started to move forward, ready to teach her sister a lesson when Rogelio stretched his arm out in front of her.

“We don’t need to hear this,” the boy said. “We’re going.” The trio walked away from the incensed girl. Ants marched underneath, unnoticed.

“That’s fine. Leave me like everyone else does. It doesn’t matter.”  _ If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that everyone pretends to care until they don’t,  _ Catra thought. “Nothing really matters anyway. Looking for meaning in life is like contemplating the answer to a question that doesn’t exist.” Catra said under her breath as she ripped the paper spelling her doom off the wall.  _ Pointless. _

* * *

Catra stared out the window of the yellow bus tumbling down the interstate at the surprise spring shower that fell, her curly hair pressed against the cold window. A song began to filter through her earbuds.

_ I’ve had enough. There’s a voice in my head, says I’m better off dead. _

_ But if I sing along little fucking louder to a happy song I’ll be alright. _

_ You want to give up. Give it all that you’ve got, and it still doesn’t cut. _

_ But if you sing along a little fucking louder to a happy song you’ll be just fine  _

_ ‘Cause e _ _ very now and again we get that feeling, and the great big void inside us opens up. _

_ And I really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel. _

_ I’m going ‘round in circles. _

She felt a warm feeling envelop her left side. She ignored it and pulled closer to the window, leaning further into the music.

_ We are possessed. We’re all fucked in the head, alone and depressed. _

_ But if we sing along a little fucking louder to a happy song _

_ Maybe we’ll forget, _

_ 'Cause e _ _ very now and again we get that feeling, and the great big void inside us opens up. _

_ And I really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel. _

_ I’m going round in circles. _

_ Don’t wake us up we’d rather just keep dreaming, _

_ ‘Cause the nightmares in our heads are bad enough. _

_ And I really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel. _

_ I’m going round in circles. _

The lingering warmth on her left side finally subsided as the bus pulled into the school parking lot.

_ The world has coalesced into one giant mess of hate and unrest. _

_ So let’s all sing along a little goddamn louder to a happy song _

_ And pretend it’s all okay. _

_ Now don’t you feel so much better? _

_ Well that’s the spirit. _

The bus came to a stop in front of the band hall, the few contestants that had made it to state quickly began to gather their things and exit the bus, eager to get home after the long day full of triumph and disappointment. All except one.

Scorpia stood between the freckled girl and the aisle.

“Move, Scorpia,” Catra said dispassionately.

“Not until you promise to talk to me,” Scorpia stood defiantly.

“Fine,” Catra said, trying to muscle past her girlfriend before being wrapped up in a bear hug.

“Get off me,” Catra almost shouted, pushing the girl off of her and leaving a scratch across the taller girl’s exposed bicep in the process.

Scorpia stood back, heart still. Catra took advantage of her surprise and stormed off the bus.

Scorpia stared down the empty aisle, spine tingling. She had been screamed at and hit by other people, but it had never come from Catra. Not like this.

Catra shoved her instrument into its cubby, rushing towards the exit. Her eyes fell upon a tall silhouette leaving against a pillar in the atrium of the cafeteria that doubled as a concert hall. The fair, brown-skinned girl set her backpack on the floor, sitting down beside it. The silhouette followed, her back against the podium.

“What do you want Scorpia,” Catra asked defensively.

“Are you feeling okay wildcat,” Scorpia asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly.

“You never did tell me what you got on your solo. I know you worked hard on it,” Scorpia said softly.

“Not hard enough apparently,” she said, backed into a corner as she threw the torn piece of paper at the girl.

“So does this mean…” Scorpia trailed off.

“Yep. I bet Weaver’s gonna make me quit band to focus on my schoolwork. It’s bullshit,” Catra seethed.

“Why do you hate her so much,” Scorpia asked.

Catra’s eyes tightened into slits. “How could you even ask that,” she said threateningly.

Scorpia felt the tingling sensation in her spine again, her mouth dried out. “I just meant…” Catra did not let her finish.

“I know what you meant,” the curly-haired girl made herself bigger. “You don’t believe me when I say that she manipulates and psychologically abuses me do you? You don’t believe me when I say she is a demon in human form, the scum of the Earth.”

“It’s not that I believe you but,” Scorpia was once again cut off by Catra.

“There’s always a ‘but’ with you people. ‘But they didn’t mean to,’ or ‘They’re just looking out for you. I knew I was right. Everyone pretends to care until they don’t,” Catra stood and stared directly into Scorpia’s red eyes. “Let me tell you this from personal experience: That woman has never cared about anyone other than herself at any point in her life.”

“I used to think that about my parents,” Scorpia said, standing slowly. “When they would yell that I’m worthless and hit me. But after they were gone I realized something. They still put a roof over my head and fed me. I’m not saying they were good people or excusing their actions because they weren’t and I don’t, but when you’re in these situations you learn to demonize your enemies. One of the most unfair lessons we are forced to learn is that our parents are human beings. We want to think of them as gods or demons, because that would make us heroes, but we all have our faults. When we seek to destroy others, we often hurt ourself, because it is the self that wants to be destroyed. And I don’t want you to go down the route that I almost did.”

Catra picked her bag up off the floor, and looked at Scorpia one last time.

“See this face? Take a good long look. Because this is the face that didn’t listen to a word you just said. Goodbye, Scorpia.”

* * *

Catra squirmed against the uncomfortable leather couch in the dim living room opposite Shadow Weaver, who was holding the piece of paper from the competition.

“I gave you your chance Catra,” Shadow Weaver said measuredly. “My stipulation was to show me that you have the ability to perform… and you failed… again.”

“Nobody got a one from the judge in that room. It’s not my fault she doesn't know good music when she hears it,” Catra protested.

“I will have no more talk of this. You are quitting music; effective immediately, and focusing on your exams to get into a good college. I will not have the other parents at the PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) continuing to look down on me for having a failure of a daughter,” the woman said.

“I am not your daughter, and you are sure as hell not my mother,” the girl said, lashing out.

“Of course I am, and you are,” Weaver said with certainty. “Your siblings received a one, and they were not even planning on pursuing a career in music. It’s just not feasible for you. You need to accept that.”

The silence in the room was deafening.  _ Nothing really matters anyway,  _ Catra thought to herself.

“Good girl,” Weaver said, patting Catra on the shoulder. “I will talk to the band director in the morning, and get your schedule changed with the school counselor.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is the time skip to university. See you then.


End file.
